


the hatreds of your history

by the_ragnarok



Series: cat!Jon [8]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ableism, Acephobia, Angst, Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Insecurity, Internalized Acephobia, M/M, Past Jon/elias, Past Jon/peter, Past Rape/Non-con, Pet Play, Trans Martin Blackwood, Trauma, background gerry keay/gertrude robinson, casual ageplay mention, casual mention of MDlb, internalized ableism, mutual trigger spirals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24128674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: Someone Jon used to know comes back to town. This does not portend well.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: cat!Jon [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622008
Comments: 163
Kudos: 450





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to mx_carter for partial beta and handholding, the rest is all my fault. Also thanks to code16 for helping me hash out the plot and the disclaimers.
> 
> As always, if I miss a tag or disclaimer, please let me know!

Martin's gotten to the point where he can name most people who regularly hang out at the romp, and he's on friendly terms with the majority of them. The person standing next to the wall is nobody he knows, but neither does he radiate the nervous energy of a newbie, despite still wearing a heavy woolen coat inside an over-warm room. Maybe Martin will go say hi.

Tim paws pointedly at Martin's shin. Martin gives him a sheepish smile and throws the tennis ball a short distance away. Tim darts to fetch it; not as quick as Jon would be, but fairly fast.

Martin had been shy about playing with Tim for a while, until Jon all but pushed him to do it. “I don’t want you just - sitting there and pining for me when I’m otherwise occupied,” Jon had said. “If I can play with other people, so should you. It’s only fair.”

Speaking of Jon... As Tim struggles to pick up a tennis ball with his teeth, Martin looks to where Jon is lying on his back, desultorily batting at a fishing rod toy Sasha's holding up for him and Helen. The latter is winding around Jon, not touching him but close. It's a testament to their friendship that Jon doesn't hiss at them for coming so near.

A whine shakes Martin out of his observations. Martin sighs, ruffles Tim's hair and says, "Yeah, looks like I can't keep my head in the game tonight. See you later?" Tim barks, picks up the ball and trots away. Martin looks around to locate the new guy, then finds himself freezing when he sees him approaching Sasha.

No. It becomes evident within a minute that he's approaching Jon.

When Jon notices the man, he goes still. His eyes widen. Martin can't read his expression at all, and that brings him out of his own trance. He strides towards Jon and the stranger, hunching a little because he doesn't want to be _that_ top, the kind who gets all possessive and says nobody can talk to their partner without their permission.

The stranger doesn't talk. He stops a few steps away from Jon and holds his hand out, expectant. Not against the rules of the romp, per se, but he'd seen Jon become uncomfortable because of smaller actions. Martin curses and walks faster. Only to freeze again, two steps later, when he realizes Jon's crawling toward the man.

He's moving so slowly, nothing like his usual bursts of speed, dark eyes fixed on this man that Martin doesn't know. He looks like something else is moving him, like a creature from a bad stop-motion animation.

Sasha's looking puzzled. "Jon? You know this guy?"

Her voice breaks the reverie that Jon's in; he blinks, looks at the stranger, and gets to his feet. He heads straight for the exit without another look, let alone another word.

That's not strictly true. At the door, after he'd put on his shoes, Jon sweeps his eyes around the room until they meet Martin's. Then he halts, gives a tiny nod, and continues. Martin sighs, exasperated, and goes get his own shoes and coat. And Jon's coat, since apparently he forgot to take that.

Jon's waiting for him outside, fortunately, and he lets Martin drape the coat over his shoulders.

"Not like you to forget your coat," Martin says, trying for cheerfulness.

Jon's shoulders climb up. "I needed to get out." His voice is so taut that Martin could strum a chord on it.

Martin lets out a breath. "Alright, then. Let's get you home."

* * *

In Jon's flat, with steaming mugs of tea in front of them, Martin broaches the question: "What happened?"

Jon laughs, tight and mirthless. He's huddled in the heavy blanket Martin gave him; normally a sight sure to stir up proprietary delight, but right now he looks small and miserable, drowning under the weight. "That's certainly a question."

"You don't have to answer." Martin sounds silly to himself, uttering inanities. But what else is new? "If you want to tell me, though, I'd like to know."

Jon shuts his eyes. "That's too much. Ask me. Something smaller."

Sounds like words are starting to slip away from him. Martin debates abandoning the question, but Jon offered and he does want to know. "Who was that man?"

"Peter."

Hardly an enlightening answer, but it's a start. "How do you know him?" 

Jon looks away, his jaw tightly clenched. "Former play partners," he says shortly.

O-kay. "You seemed... weird around him."

Jon gives a one-shouldered shrug. "We didn't part on the best of terms."

"But he felt comfortable reaching out to touch you," Martin says slowly, trying to make the thought fit in his head. He hadn't known Jon has any exes beside Georgie and The Evil One, but Jon doesn't much like to talk about his romantic - or kinky, he said _play partner_ , not _boyfriend_ \- history. 

Just like that, he can see Jon's walls rising. "I was different when he knew me," he says. He abruptly gets up off the couch. "I need to go to bed."

Martin takes the hint - or rather, the verbal two-by-four to the face - and leaves, worry hanging around him like a dark cloud.

* * *

Martin receives his schedule for the next week. To his delight, it seems like he has Saturday morning free, and the evening before that as well. He texts Jon about, celebratory. _i can go to georgie's romp!_

It takes Jon half an hour to text back, _Have fun. I won't be going._

Martin stares dumbly at his phone. _what? why not?_

 _Don't feel like it._ That text is followed shortly by, _I can make dinner on Saturday night if you'd like._

 _sounds good._ Martin tucks his phone back in, baffled. It's not like Jon to miss a romp while still having time to see him. They've been dating for nine months, not long enough to stop feeling giddy at the thought of dating Jon, but long enough that Martin has noticed he only misses a romp - especially the ones Georgie hosts in her own house - when something's wrong. 

Still, he doubts anything good is going to come out of pressing Jon about it. Jon will tell him when he's ready.

* * *

Jon also declines Martin inviting him to the munch, but that's not unusual. Jon doesn't seem to much like the _community_ aspect of the kink community. Martin goes alone, like he usually does. 

The organizer, Gerry, waves lazily at Martin when he arrives. "Still no boyfriend?" he says, fiddling with his labret. "At this rate, I'm going to think you made him up."

"You couldn't possibly make up Jon," says Sasha, already seated at the table. "Nobody would have enough imagination for that."

Martin's sliding into the next seat to Sasha when he hears someone saying, "I promise you, Jon is quite real. I think I still have the tooth marks to prove it!" He chuckles. Martin tries not to bristle as he turns to see Peter sitting just down the table, smiling jovially. 

"Ouch," Sasha chirps. "What did you do to earn those?"

Peter shrugs, still smiling. "Nothing he didn't like." He turns back to Martin. "I could give you a few tips, perhaps, if you wanted." He chuckles.

"Thanks," Martin says faintly. "I think I'm good."

Martin doesn't last long before he's ready to leave. Something about Peter feels like it's sapping his energy, even if he only speaks to launch into a couple of long-winded pointless anecdotes. As he walks out, however, he hears someone else behind him. 

He turns around. Peter. Of course. "Did you want something?" Martin doesn't like how his voice sounds, tense and petty.

To Martin's surprise, Peter says, "To apologize, I think." He offers a hand. "I admit, that joke about giving you tips was in poor taste. Let's try again."

Martin doesn't much want to, but he can't think of a sufficient excuse to be rude. He shakes Peter's hand.

Peter beams at him. "Marvellous." Then his expression grows serious. "I might have some concerns you'd like to hear, though."

"Do I?" Martin says, eyes narrowed. 

Peter looks around at the empty street around them. "You seem like a decent bloke," he says. "Despite how it ended with Jon, I liked him and I still do. Seems a shame to let you hurt one another over stuff I could clarify for you."

"I'm sure we'll manage," Martin says, even as his heart beats faster. What does this guy know? 

Peter catches his gaze. His eyes are a curious shade of grey, almost colorless. "Come have coffee with me," he says. "Where's the harm? At worst, you've lost an hour to an old man's natterings. At best, you might learn something useful."

That still sounds like a bad bargain to Martin, but what if he's wrong? What if he's ignoring helpful advice because of petty jealousy? "Alright," he says. "An hour. I can do mornings on Tuesday and Wednesday, if those work for you." He's not wasting potential Jon-time to talk to this guy, he doesn't care what he has to say. 

Peter takes that in stride. "Wonderful." He takes out a mobile and asks for Martin's number.

* * *

The cafe where he meets Peter is all but abandoned. Martin is reminded of what he considers his first date with Jon; their first discussion of boundaries, anyway. It's a pleasant memory. He doesn't want to taint it with whatever Peter wants from him. 

Peter stands up to greet him, shakes his hand. "Nice weather, isn't it?"

Martin sits down. "I don't have a lot of time. Say what you have to say."

Peter chuckles. "You're bold, I like that." He looks at Martin critically. "How long did you say you and Jon have been together?"

"I didn't say. Nine months."

“Long enough,” Peter says, “that I wouldn't have expected him to be quite so skittish."

Martin flinches, and tries to cover it with a shrug. "He's had bad experiences." He regrets the words even as he says them; for breaching Jon's privacy, for acting like Peter is entitled to an explanation. 

"Has he, now?" Peter's drink arrives, and he stops to take a sip. He grimaces. "Even so, I'm worried."

"I don't see how any of this is a concern of yours." Martin's voice is too high in his own ears.

Peter ignores this. "He had his moments, back when I knew him. He could be sweet, but most of the time? Cold, and I know from cold. Careful you don't give yourself frostbite."

Martin bristles. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Peter makes a noncommittal sound. "Oh, nothing. Just makes me wonder what kind of man takes up with a creature who can barely stand to look at him." 

Martin stares at him in disbelief. "What did you just say?"

"I do get it," Peter continues, heedless. "The allure of going where you're not wanted, attempting the forbidden…."

Martin rises to his feet, tossing a note on the table even though he didn't order anything yet. He has a feeling Peter isn't much of a tipper. "That's it. Goodbye."

"If I'm wrong, what are you so worked up about?" Peter calls after him. Martin walks faster and doesn't look back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content notes at the bottom! This chapter is unbetad, all terribleness is my fault alone.

Martin doesn't think about Peter during the day. He has work. On a brief, rare break, he takes out his phone and smiles at the _Hug_ Jon had texted him earlier. Maybe Martin should get him to branch out into cute animal pictures. Does Jon like cute animal pictures? How have they not discussed this yet?

Work is gruelling but satisfying. A bit like bashing your head against a brick wall would be, if every so often the wall broke and you rescued someone trapped on the other side. It certainly takes his mind off everything else. Even when he's done, he's too knackered to think of anything except showering and texting Jon _good night_ before he slides under his blanket.

The next day is a school day, and Martin spends it vainly trying to memorize adverse drug interactions when his mobile vibrates. At break time, he sees that along the daily hug, Jon had texted him a question: _Would you like to come over tonight?_

Silly question, honestly, given that they'd already coordinated their schedules to ascertain tonight would be a good one to spend together, but Jon can be charmingly formal about these things.

_Or maybe it's a way of maintaining distance,_ says an unfortunately familiar voice in Martin's head. Martin tells it to stuff it and resumes torturing himself with pharmacology.

* * *

Jon's cooking when Martin arrives. It still makes him grin like a fool that he has his own key to Jon's flat, that Jon absentmindedly slid it his way one day with a, "I might have my hands full, you may as well let yourself in."

Right now, Jon certainly has both hands full, one ladling stock into a pot, the other stirring. Martin comes to look, keeping a slight distance: Jon doesn't like to be touched while he's working. "Is that risotto?"

"No, it's my patented technique for sushi rice," Jon says, rolling his eyes. "Yes, it's risotto. It's really not as complicated as people make it out to be. All it takes is patience and dedication." He darts a glance at Martin. "You might find yourself adept at cooking it."

Martin flushes. He's pretty sure that's a compliment, a big one. "I don't know. It's a lot easier to be patient with people than with grains."

"Not for me," Jon says sourly. "Grains usually don't invite themselves into my space unasked."

Despite himself, Martin flinches. He knows that wasn't aimed at him. He _knows_. There's no reason to believe Jon meant him. He pushes down on the feeling until he can no longer tell it's there.

The rest of the evening goes well. The risotto is delicious, and Jon lets out a tiny pleased smile when Martin says so. It turns into a scowl when Martin calls him adorable, which doesn't reduce his adorableness one bit. "But I won't call you that if it bothers you."

Jon ducks his head and mumbles, "You can if you like." Martin can't stop grinning at him. He probably looks like a living heart-eyes emoji, and he can't bring himself to mind.

After dinner, Martin settles himself on the sofa. Jon starts out at its opposite end, curling up and peering at Martin. "Hello," Martin says softly. He reaches out his hand. "My, aren't you a handsome one." Jon curls up tighter and meeps in indignation. Martin knows by now that it's a mock protest, like Jon biting his hand when he gets flustered. He still says, "Fine, I won't call you that, then."

For that sin, Martin suffers the punishment of sitting alone for an entire three minutes while Jon broods. Then Jon crosses the distance between them and lies beside Martin, angling his head to make Martin's fingers pet him. "Aw, there you go," Martin croons, scratching behind Jon's ears. He wants to call Jon sweet, a pretty kitty, but he's not sure how that would be received. _Good kitty_ is unambiguously off limits. He settles for telling him, sincerely, "It feels good to pet you. Thank you for letting me." Jon closes his eyes and purrs.

Martin supposes that's how the rest of the evening would go. He's surprised when Jon gets off the sofa and pulls on his sleeve to make him come along. He follows Jon to the bedroom and gets on top of the blankets. Jon takes a moment to arrange a blanket nest for himself so that he's covered, supported, and lying flush against Martin all at once. 

He dearly wants to kiss Jon's mouth, but he'd never asked and Jon had never offered. That's probably off limits as well, and Martin has no business wanting it. He does ask permission to kiss Jon's forehead, which he gets. Jon's skin is warm and lovely under his lips.

Jon shifts to show Martin his back, picking up his braid to dangle it, show Martin that he wants it redone. Martin sighs happily. He loves it when Jon gets demanding. He unravels the braid, sliding desirous fingers through Jon's straight dark hair, turning his hand to see the hints of silver shine. He doesn't do anything complicated, just a four-strand braid. He's fascinated by the weave of it, the way the strands dip under and lie over one another, the play of light.

As he works, he knows to pay attention to Jon's muscles, which are loosening, relaxing. To Jon's slowing breaths. He asks to lay a hand on Jon's neck, receives a drowsy nod, and feels his pulse slowing as well. He could be falling asleep, or he could be...

The braid is done. Martin secures it with a hairband. Jon turns over, moving like a viscous liquid. His eyes are half shut, and he clings to Martin.

Ah. The other option, then.

Martin's heart races. "Free permission to touch?" he asks, voice quivering slightly. Jon accepting that much, trusting him that much - he doesn't think he'll ever take that for granted. He very much hopes not.

Especially since Jon nods, with a faint smile. He lies languorously as Martin rucks up his shirt to kiss his belly, his hipbones. Hums with contentment as Martin traces his collarbone and nuzzles his neck, his jaw.

With trembling hands, he touches the waistband of Jon's tracksuit bottoms. Jon obligingly lifts himself to let Martin push them down. Martin takes a moment to marvel at him, the jut of his hip bones, his cock nestled soft and vulnerable in a thatch of wiry hair.

As soon as Martin touches his lips to Jon's cock, however, Jon twitches. Martin looks up to see Jon frowning. "Should I stop?" Martin asks.

Jon's frown deepens, and after a moment's consideration he nods. He paws at his dishevelled clothes until Martin puts him back to rights. Then he rubs his cheek against Martin's, makes a quiet "Mrrp," and shuffles a little bit away, huddling in his blanket.

Slowly, Martin lies on his back. He's still wound up, his tentative arousal curdling into a lump in his chest. He could go to the bathroom and take care of himself, but that sounds distinctly unappealing. It sounds lonely and miserable, if he's honest, and he'd rather not get off at all.

God, listen to him, complaining as though he had some right to Jon's body. It's a wonder Jon accepts his touch at all with how disgustingly entitled he's being. 

This is made worse because this feeling is familiar. Jon often calls a halt to any sexual activity at any point. And that's good! That's what Martin wants him to do, wants Jon to feel safe, to _be_ safe. Martin's sexual frustration is boring bullshit that nobody cares about.

_Going where you're not wanted,_ says a voice in his head that sounds like Peter. "Shut _up_ ," Martin snarls.

Jon makes a slight noise. Martin's guilt intensifies. Jon doesn't sleep enough, or well, as it is. He shushes Jon, and tiptoes to the sofa, where his restlessness will bother no one but himself.

* * *

It's not the first time he's been to one of Georgie's private romps alone. Even so, he feels the lack of Jon's presence keenly. Georgie greets him with a hug, and doesn't ask why Jon didn't come. Martin is grateful beyond words for not having to explain what he doesn’t himself understand.

The romp itself is unexceptionable. He redeems his reputation with Tim by playing a better game of fetch and giving some lengthy belly rubs. He sits with Sasha as Helen busily climbs the sofa to lie on top of its back.

Martin is a bit surprise when the door opens to admit Gerry and an older woman who Martin supposes is his mommy. They spend a while at the door, talking to Georgie in hushed tones, before making their way to the living room. Gerry's domme sits primly on a plastic chair, and Gerry settles himself comfortably at her feet, tangling his leash between his fingers until his mommy yanks at it.

Usually Martin would wander over and introduce himself, but the woman seems to project an aura of aloofness. To Martin's gladness and slight trepidation, Gerry notices him, exchanges a word with his mommy, and both of them walk over to him.

"Hello," the woman says. Her voice is thin and precise. "My name is Gertrude, and my boy here says you might have information we need."

To Martin's surprise, Gerry rolls his eyes. He's not sure what kind of little Gerry is supposed to be, but so far he's mostly radiating bratty teenager vibes. Maybe that's what their dynamic is like. None of his business. "Sorry to sound official," he says, "but we really do need to talk to you. I'm also sorry for interrupting the party, for you and Georgie, but we wanted to deal with this as quickly as possible."

Well, that's ominous. Martin follows them to Georgie's bedroom, where she awaits them. "Well?" Georgie says.

Gertrude doesn't mess about. "It appears that Peter Lukas attended Gerard's munch." Gerry winces. "In Gerard's defence, I confess I never mentioned Lukas to him. I didn't believe any of Elias's cronies would be so bold as to show their faces here again."

Martin sucks in a shocked breath. "Elias? Jon's ex Elias?"

"Yes," Georgie says, scowling. "So you can see why we're eager to be rid of him."

Martin's mind races. Jon had said Peter was an old play partner. Could that mean... "Christ, I hope you do. He's a creep."

"So you see the purpose of our visit," Gertrude says. "If Peter Lukas isn't a rapist, I'll have Gerard eat his collar." Gerry gives her an offended look. "But so far nobody he's molested has come forward." She gives Martin an expectant look.

Queasiness floods Martin. "I, I don't know anything," he stammers. "I'm sorry. You should be talking to Jon."

Gertrude snorts with a rudeness that Martin wouldn't have expected from someone of her apparent dignity. "It seems that there's only one person who's had any luck talking to that young man."

"That's you," Gerry says, unhelpfully.

Martin closes his eyes and rubs them. "I'm not going to pressure him," he says.

"We wouldn't want you to," Georgie says, earnestly, but Martin notices that Gertrude and Gerry are silent. "I didn’t want to involve him in this. If he's willing, though... I will listen. I will always listen."

"There's everyone else to consider," Gerry says, in a low voice. "If he's hurt someone before, he'll do it again. But to ban him from events, we need to know of at least one concrete case where he's hurt people." He doesn't continue until Martin opens his eyes and looks at him. Then he says, softly, "Please."

Martin lets out a long, shaky sigh. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," Georgie says. In a low voice, she adds, "He's my friend. I don't want to see him hurt any more than you do."

That's about all Martin can take. Perhaps Jon's been rubbing off on him, because he walks out of the room, out of the party, without another word.

Christ, what is he going to tell Jon?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains:  
> \- a scene where allo partner of ace person is frustrated about not having sex  
> \+ allo person does not express it towards his partner at all and hates himself for feeling this way  
> \+ later in the story this will be dealt with in ways that do not involve having more sex.  
> \- background gerry/gertrude + casual MD/lb mention  
> \- reference to pressuring a trauma victim to disclose trauma


	3. Chapter 3

Martin's roused from his ever-tightening mental spiral by the chime of his phone. He takes it out, and his heart twists to read Jon's name on the screen.

The message itself is innocuous enough. _Would pizza be alright for dinner? I'd rather not cook today._ Martin shoots back a _thats fine_ and tries to get his breathing back under control. Then he sends, _can i stay over? bed or couch, host's choice._

_Of course you can have the bed. If I'd rather not share, I'm perfectly comfortable on the couch._

Martin lets out a sigh. There, that's sorted. They'll have tonight for themselves, and in the morning, after tea, Martin will bring up this whole mess.

* * *

Jon's in an unusually cuddly mood tonight. Even before they've finished eating, he sits so his feet bump against Martin's. Martin enjoys this for a whole three minutes before his mood drops again. _Grateful for scraps, aren't we?_

Martin grits his teeth. Jon's affection, so bravely offered up after he'd been hurt so much, is hardly _scraps_. He'd rather not have a rapist's voice taking up presence in his head, thanks.

Even Jon, as difficult as he finds social graces at times, notices something's wrong. "Martin?" His eyes flit around the room, and settle on the pizza. "I know I said I'll make dinner--"

"And this is perfectly good dinner," Martin says, loud enough to interrupt his own mental processes. "Delicious." He lets out a breath. "I'm sorry, I'm out of sorts tonight."

Jon frowns. "Do you want to go home?"

It's a struggle to remember that Jon's not pushing him away; he's offering him an out. That Martin doesn't need it, doesn't want it, isn't the issue. "No," he says, swallowing down the mess of emotion in his chest. "I want to stay." He always wants to stay.

Jon's expression clears, and he takes another bite out of his pizza. Martin focuses on his own slice.

After dinner, Jon doesn't wait. He pushes Martin onto the sofa and climbs into his lap, confident in his right to be there. It shakes Martin out of his funk, and he scritches Jon and plays with him and has a wholly enjoyable evening.

Then Jon gets up, and paws at him to follow. Trepidation sets root in Martin's heart.

He shakes it off. He's being silly. Why would he not want to cuddle Jon in bed? It's his very favourite thing to do.

The formless worry mostly floats away while he's petting Jon's back and playing with his hair. Jon turns around and presents his tummy for kisses, his fingernails raking shivery trails down Martin's scalp. He can't remember what he was so worried about.

He gestures at Jon's shirt, asking wordlessly to take it off, and Jon hesitates and shakes his head. Then his eyes widen, alarmingly. "Martin?"

Only when Martin answers, "What?" does he realize he's crying.

Jon is scrabbling for - the hem of his own shirt, trying to take it off. Martin, without thinking, puts his hand on Jon's and asks, "What are you doing?"

"I'll take it off," Jon mumbles. "It's not worth upsetting you."

Suddenly Martin can't breathe. He finds himself curling up, sobbing, barely able to breathe. No, no, _no_. He'd gone and mucked it all up. Now he's made Jon feel unsafe, and how is he any better than Peter and Elias and all their ilk? He struggles for enough air to let out, "I'm sorry."

"Martin, please." Jon sounds frantic. "Please tell me what's wrong."

That's even worse. Now he's made Jon beg, and that's just wrong. Jon should never have to beg for anything that Martin can give him. He tries to choke down the mess of everything he's feeling, but the more he tries, the more it leaks out of him in tears and desperate gasps for breath. There's no way out, no matter how hard Martin scrabbles for it.

Until Jon says, "Do I need to get the list again?"

That startles Martin into laughing, which makes him cough, which clears his head a little. Enough that he can sit up, sniffle, and concentrate on breathing. In and out. In and out. His throat hurts, but never mind that. Breathe. When he can finally manage words, he says, "I'm sorry."

"Why do you always apologize when you're crying?" Jon asks. And then says, "Oh, shit, I'm sorry," when Martin flinches.

He really doesn't want to think why strong displays of emotion tends to have him babbling apologies. Anyway, that's not relevant. "I'm sorry for this response," Martin says. "You get to say no, you always get to say no, I _want_ you to say no. If you have to worry about me flying off the handle every time you do, you might not tell me when you want me to stop, and I _never_ want that to happen."

"Yes, alright, you care about my boundaries, I _know_ already." Jon cringes. "Sorry - argh, can we both stop apologizing for long enough to explain what just happened?" But he adds, hurriedly, "I don't take it for granted that you care!"

"I know." Martin wishes he did, really. Nobody should be grateful not to be violated. But he owes Jon an answer. He inhales, deep and bracing. "I...."

He has no idea what to say.

Jon watches him intently. "Alright," he says. "I'll get the list."

Martin rolls his eyes. "There's no need for that, I know exactly what happened." He deflates at Jon's expectant look. "I'm worried if I say it, you'll think you've done something wrong. And you absolutely didn't."

"Okay, yes, I'll take that under advisement," Jon says impatiently. "Now what is it already?" His mouth thins. "I'll apologize for being abrupt later. Now tell me."

Martin can't help grinning at him with delight, despite everything. Jon is so... _Jon_. It makes it easier to admit, "Sometimes, when you say no, I feel hurt." He closes his eyes. "And I don't want to put this on you. You've been pressured enough, you don't need more of that from me."

For a few moments, Jon is silent. Then Martin feels something against his palm. The tip of Jon's nose. Tentatively, he moves his hand to cradle Jon's jaw. Jon's body settles warm at his side.

It's easier to talk like this. "You're having a hard enough time," Martin says. "I don't want to take away from that because I can't handle rejection."

Jon huffs in exasperation. "Martin. Just because I have _trauma_ ," the word drips with sarcasm Martin rather wishes Jon wouldn't use talking about his history, "doesn't mean this entire relationship has to be about me and you never get to need anything."

Martin rubs his eyes. "This isn't a need, this is just me being entitled."

"Oh, how very entitled of you to backtrack every time I show so much as a twinge of disinterest," Jon snaps. "To ask for anything from a person who won't even tell you they love you. How dare you expect any kind of emotional satisfaction in a relationship."

After a shocked moment, Martin says, "Firstly, you've said that a dozen different ways. Secondly, this relationship is plenty emotionally satisfying, thank you very much. Thirdly, you just _did_ say that."

Jon freezes, and then slumps against Martin. "This is a mess," he says. "Can we talk about this in the morning?"

"The morning's wiser than the evening," Martin says in agreement. It's a phrase his grandmother used to say. "In the meanwhile - is it okay to say I love you? Whether or not you say it in words. Or at all."

Jon subtly shifts even closer to him, and lays his head on Martin's thigh. He softly pats Martin's cheek until he opens his eyes to see Jon nod, firmly. To see Jon tentatively moving himself to put his lips to the tips of Martin's fingers, tongue darting out to lick them.

"I love you," Martin whispers, tears in his eyes again for a completely different reason. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter:  
> \- more of martin having guilt spirals about unrequited desire, and some conversation about it  
> \- internalized acephobia and ableism on jon's side
> 
> Disclaimer: one doesn't have to comfort one's partner after saying no to them. If one wants to, though, that's a thing one can do.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major thanks to Code16 for helping me storyboard, craft disclaimers, and think through consent, plot, and emotional arc implications.

Martin wakes up with sunrise. He spends a good ten minutes looking at Jon sleeping, watching expressions chase one another across his face as he dreams. His hair has come loose of its braid, fanning out on the pillow like seaweed.

As Jon starts frowning in his sleep, the snuffling sounds he's making turning into the precursor to whimpers, Martin calls his name. Softly, first, then louder. He feels a twinge of regret when Jon startles awake.

Jon sits up in bed, dragging the blankets with him to make a little nest, and rubs at his eyes. Then he's done, and catches Martin looking at him. "What?"

"Nothing," Martin says, trying to look away and not appear so besotted. He suspects he failed. "Here, try lying back down." When Jon complies, Martin takes the heavy blanket he'd given Jon and pulls it over him.

Jon blinks at him. He reaches out and takes Martin's hand, bringing it to his face, pressing his nose against the skin of Martin's palm. His features soften and go slack, but his grip on Martin's hand remains strong.

That's okay. Martin manoeuvres himself to lie down without extricating his limb. Jon can have him for as long as he wants.

* * *

Jon stares down at his mug, glasses fogging lightly. "No."

Martin lets out a sigh. "I thought at much. Okay. You don't have to talk about Peter, not to them, not to me, not to anyone. If you want to, though--"

"I don't."

"Alright. Got it." Martin lets out a tiny, unconvincing laughter. "Under the circumstances, if you'd rather defer our conversation from yesterday, that's totally understandable."

That gets Jon to look up. "No," he says, eyes gone flinty. "You are not using this to get out of that discussion."

"I wasn't trying to!" Feeling a little mulish, Martin crosses his arms. "Beside, don't I also get to decide what I talk about?"

"I'm not asking you to give details about past trauma," Jon says, "I'm trying to figure out how to make sure you're not miserable in our present relationship. I can't force you, but I can make you aware that if we drop it here, I will spend the rest of our relationship wondering in what other ways I'm hurting you that you're not telling me about."

"I'm not miserable! Besides, that's not fair. You're not hurting me. I'm just--"

"If you say _entitled_ again I will," Jon looks around, apparently for a suitable threat to make, finds none, and deflates. "I will be very cross."

It makes Martin giggle. "Alright, alright, I won't." He lets out a breath. "But what are we going to talk about? I don't know what to _do_."

Jon looks conflicted. "I could try--"

"If that sentence ends with a suggestion to do anything you don't want, the answer is no. We're not doing that."

Jon bristles. "Well, you try coming up with a solution then!" He groans. "But you just said you don't have one." He sets the tea down and flops sideways on the sofa. "I don't think Auntie Zelda ever fielded a question like this." He raises his eyes briefly and registers Martin's perplexed expression. "Um. That advice column I... I'm just going to shut up now."

Huh. Actually... "That could be an idea," Martin says slowly. "Write a letter."

Jon wrinkles his nose. Martin battles the urge to ask to kiss it, not wanting to distract from their current subject. "It'll take her weeks to answer if she does at all."

"Yeah, but that's not what I meant. I meant, we each write a letter, explain the situation from our point of view. Then we read them together. Maybe something will jump out at us that we've been missing."

Slowly, Jon nods. "Like rubber-duck debugging." He waves off Martin's baffled expression. "I'll explain later. Alright, let's try it."

* * *

"Who came up with this idea?" Martin mutters to himself as he crosses out a line for the eleventh time. "Oh, right. I did. Brilliant. Martin K. Blackwood, forever idiot."

From the bedroom, Jon yells, "I can hear you talking shit about my boyfriend!"

The grin spreading across Martin's face is hardly intelligent, but that doesn't matter. He takes another breath and keeps writing.

Finally, he gives the page one last read through.

_My boyfriend is absolutely wonderful, and I'm worried about ruining everything because I keep wanting more than he wants to give. He's a good person, funny, smart, beautiful. I love being with him and I love the things we do together._

_But sometimes..._ Martin winces, and makes himself keep reading. _Sometimes, we'll start getting intimate, and with no warning he will close up on me. And he gets to! But every time he does, I feel like I must have done something wrong._

_I get that it's probably not about me, I do. But when he does, I feel so alone, and I don't know what to do. And it's even worse because he's so amazing and I don't understand why he's with me to begin with. I feel like a total shit for wanting even more from him when he gives me so much already, when I know how hard he's trying as it is._

_The last thing I want is for him to feel like he's not enough, like he should push himself further. That's not what I want. I just keep feeling like he's leaving me behind and going somewhere else without me, and I don't know how to make it stop._

* * *

Jon's only on the opposite side of the sofa, but to Martin it feels like he's a continent away. He’s clutching his sheet of paper like a lifeline. 

Martin clears his throat. “Well. One of us should go first.”

Jon’s head snaps up like a gazelle hearing a lion. “Oh! I thought we could just trade and read them.”

“Oh. Yes, we can do that.” 

Neither of them makes any move to approach the other.

Jon blows out a breath. “Okay. On the count of three, we will exchange letters. We can do this.” Slowly, Martin nods.

Neither of them starts counting.

“Alright, this is ridiculous,” Martin says. He resolutely stands up, takes a step nearer to Jon, holds out his letter. It takes Jon a few seconds to accept it, and a few more to give his own, but finally they manage and Martin can settle back on his own side of the sofa.

It’s hard to read it; he keeps glancing back to Jon, reading his letter. He shuts his eyes tightly, mentally yells at himself to focus, opens them and starts to read.

_Dear Auntie Zelda,_

(Jon kept the advice column beginning. Martin has to tamp down on a wave of adoration so he can concentrate on the contents.)

_My boyfriend (he/him, 29) and I (he/him, 28) have a problem. I am forced to concur that I am somewhere on the asexual spectrum, and he is not. As a result, I frequently leave him frustrated. He has never pressured me, and didn’t even tell me this until he was upset enough to break down in tears. I had to practically force a confession out of him._

_He very much respects me and my boundaries. However, I don’t want to neglect him. I have, in the past, offered to open up the relationship sexually; he said he wasn’t interested, and I must admit to feeling relieved by that. I would strongly prefer for both of us to remain sexually monogamous, though I realize that makes me selfish._

“Wanting monogamy doesn’t make you selfish!” Martin says, only realizing he’s speaking out loud by the end of the sentence.

He glances at Jon to see if he’s interrupted him, and freezes when he sees Jon shaking. “Jon? What’s wrong?”

When Jon raises his eyes from Martin’s letter, they are reddened. “I am trying,” he whispers. “I mean, it’s the least I can do, with how much you’re trying as well. I. Thank you for seeing that, I suppose.”

That’s about as much as Martin can take. “Can I hug you?” At Jon’s nod, he crosses the distance between them and holds Jon to him, rubbing his hands over Jon’s back. He doesn’t ask to kiss Jon’s head. 

After a few moments of this, they go back to reading, but Jon is still leaning against Martin as they read.

_I would very much not want to break up, but the thought of leaving him unsatisfied dismays me. I would rather have sex than have him be continuously miserable,_

“I’m not miserable! what are you talking about?”

Jon sighs. “Finish reading it first, please.”

_but I can’t help admitting I’ve been enjoying my ability to terminate intimacy when it becomes too much for me, which it often does with little to no warning._

_I’ve seen letters about dealing with pressuring allosexual partners. What do I do when my partner is so determined not to pressure me in any way that he’s tearing himself to shreds in the process?_

Martin leans back on the sofa, letting out a shaky breath. “Okay, I’m done.”

“Me too.” Jon doesn’t move from his slump against Martin’s side. 

A shaky laughter escapes Martin. “God, I’m about ready to sleep for another eight hours now.” Jon flinches minutely. “Jon? What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry being with me is so draining,” Jon mumbles. “I don’t mean to be difficult.”

Martin takes a moment to consider his words. “I think it can be difficult for you to, to do a lot of things. It’s difficult for you to be with me, isn’t it? You keep running into triggers.” He hopes this doesn’t turn into another one of those conversations where Jon rolls his eyes at the entire idea of trauma. 

But Jon only says, “Yes,” low and defeated.

“So, there you go. And… don’t take this the wrong way, but I like trying to figure out how to make things work, with you. Like a puzzle. You’re stimulating. Enriching.”

That at least makes Jon laugh. “That’s good to hear, I suppose.” He grows quiet. “Still. You get to be tired.”

“Yeah, noted.” He looks at Jon with affection. “Any solutions that came up while you read it?”

Promptly, Jon says, “First of all, you can stop putting yourself down for having wants. You’re not doing anything wrong by being attracted to me.”

“I am if it’s making you feel like you should cross your own boundaries to satisfy me!”

To Martin’s surprise, Jon’s gaze remains steady. “No, you’re not. I… recognize that my feelings on the subject have to do with my history, and society’s views on sex as owed in a romantic relationship. There are many people at fault here, but none of them are you.”

“Well, okay, but only if it’s agreed it’s not your fault either,” Martin says.

A sliver of a smile graces Jon’s face. “I suppose I can allow that. Anything on your end?”

It takes Martin a moment to find his words. “You said something about preferring to have sex with me to my being miserable,” he says slowly. “Wait, let me finish. Nevermind that I would find that ethically wrong, it wouldn’t do any good. It wouldn’t be what I wanted in the first place.”

Jon stiffens. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“If it were a question of getting off, I have two hands I can use,” Martin says. 

“Alright, yes, but that’s not the same as sex, is it?” A furrow appears in the middle of Jon’s forehead. Martin ignores the inappropriate urge to kiss it. “There must be something you get from sex that you don’t from masturbation. I want you to have that.”

That gives Martin pause. “I guess. But whatever that is, it isn’t just having access to your body, you know?”

Jon lets out a long sigh. “I don’t. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

Decisively, Martin stands up. “I think we’re going around in circles again, and I’m starving. Let’s have breakfast, and keep going afterwards.”

As Martin is scrambling eggs, however, Jon says, “I don’t think we’re getting to do that today.” Martin looks up and halts as he sees that Jon’s complexion has gone ashen. 

Wordless, Jon shows his phone. _Gertrude wants to out Peter to the press using what she knows about your history._ Georgie’s name appears as the sender.

Before Martin can react, his own phone buzzes. He picks it up on instinct and sees a message from an unfamiliar number. _We have some things to discuss. Let me know when you can meet. - Peter._

“Shit,” they say in tandem.

Martin sighs and rescues the eggs just before they burn. They might as well face this on a full stomach. He just hopes he can get Jon to eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- mentions of nonconsensual outing  
> \- a looooot of relationship negotiation  
> \- jon and martin both have internalized badthings
> 
> disclaimer: people do get not to talk about their issues, even if they’re impacting the relationship (though this may have consequences for the relationship); however, jon here recognizes that martin just has trouble accepting that he needs care as well, and doesn’t really not want to talk about things.


	5. Chapter 5

This is a terrible idea. Martin knows this. Jon told him as much. And yet, here he is, sitting at a cafe table nursing a cup of tea.

Peter is five minutes late. A childish part of Martin hopes he might never show up at all. Another part reminds him that he could still leave.

A long shadow darkens the doorway. Too late.

"Sorry for not waiting for you," Martin says, thin and unconvincing.

"No, not at all." Peter doesn't take off his coat before sitting down. "Perhaps this time I might have the pleasure of your company until you're done drinking, at least."

Martin does not snarl. Instead he says, "Alright. You said we had something to discuss. What is it?"

Peter turns his pale eyes on Martin. "I believe you're aware of Gertrude's ultimatum."

Not exactly, but he can guess. "Either you stop coming to events of your own free will, or she exposes you."

Peter's mouth purses. "Hardly _free will_ if I'm being extorted, but the principle is sound. I thought, given the risk this possesses to our mutual friend, that you might persuade her and the rest of the organizers to call off the hunt."

Martin bristles. "He's not your friend," he says tartly. "And I'm hardly going to ask them to let you continue to prey on people in the scene."

Peter has the temerity to look hurt. "That's unfounded," he says. "I'll have you know I never did anything to anyone without their explicit consent." At Martin's raised eyebrows, he presses on. "It's true! Why, I would usually have Jon beg for any kind of contact before I gave it to him. I had to set up the scene carefully, yes, but by the time we were done he was pleading." Peter smiles a little in reminiscence.

"I see," Martin says flatly. He's had Jon beg him for contact, too. Didn't mean he'd actually wanted it, just that the alternative was too horrible for him to stand. _Someone_ had taught Jon to offer up sex acts he didn't want in return for basic support.

Peter surveys him. He sighs. "I see you're going to be stubborn about this," he says, "but surely you see he needs to be... handled?"

"I really, really don't." Martin tries his best not to spit the words out like venom.

"You must know what it feels like," Peter presses on. "He's a tease. You've been letting him have his way, haven't you? How has that worked out for you? Spending your days frustrated and unsatisfied, barely feeling like a Dom at all, when all you want to do is spread those legs of his and--"

Martin stands up, his chair almost falling to the floor behind him. "We're done here."

"Just so long as you remember," Peter says calmly. "This will probably wind up hurting him more than it does me."

Martin doesn't know. All he knows is that if he spends another second with Peter, he will strangle him, and he doubts that would be good for Jon.

* * *

At Jon's door, he knocks, struck by fear that Jon may not want him inside after all.

Jon opens the door almost before he's finished knocking, though, and herds him inside. "What did he want?"

"To be a steaming heap of shit," Martin says. He sits on the sofa. "I'm not going to repeat his disgusting nonsense to you, ugh. What a festering sore on the arse of humanity."

"I told you so," Jon says, but it's devoid of smugness. He's still standing up, hands twitching.

It's a motion Martin knows, by now. "You look like you need to bat at something."

Jon wrinkles his nose. "I don't think I could be a cat right now." He sits down, at least. His fingernails are growing out again, and Martin feels a pang of longing looking at them. "Too wound up."

"I can hardly blame you for that."

Jon hugs his knees to his chest. "Maybe not blame me," he says, "but it's bothering you, isn't it? I give you little enough, and now I can't even do that."

"That's rubbish," Martin says. "You give me so much, all the time, and you don't even notice it." Some ideas fit together in his head suddenly, and he blurts out, "So that's where that bullshit about keeping me _satisfied_ came from? Peter's compulsive need to get his dick wet?" He claps his hand over his mouth. "Shit, I shouldn't have said that. I'm so sorry."

Jon chokes. But he says, "It's fine. Not like I don't know what he thinks." He darts a glance at Martin. "I wouldn't say it came only from him, but he sure didn't help."

"If he's never helped a single person in his life, I wouldn't be surprised," Martin mutters sourly.

Jon huffs. "I don't understand," he says quietly. "You talk about what Peter wants like it's completely foreign to you, and you say what you want isn't sex, or isn't just sex, but I don't understand what it _is_." He straightens up, feet landing back on the floor with a thump that makes Martin startle. "I'm going to reread your letter, and see if it makes more sense now."

That's good, because Martin has zero other ideas to offer. He looks at Jon as he fetches the letter, brow furrowing as he goes over the words, the tip of Jon's pink tongue peeking out as he concentrates. It's... distracting.

Finally, Jon puts the letter aside. "You say you feel... alone," he says, like the word is foreign on his mouth. "But I don't understand. I'm right there. I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes, okay, I know!" Martin says, hunching. "I realize I'm not making any sense. It's better if we just ignore it."

"It is absolutely not." Jon regards him steadily. "When I need things," he says, "you can figure out what they are and give them to me. I don't know how you do that. It's like magic. I want to do that for you, but I don't know how. Please. Help me."

Jon should never have to beg. "It's about... connection, I guess," Martin says slowly. "You stop touching me, stop letting me touch you, and it's like you don't want to be in the same space with me anymore so you withdraw into your own mind." He adds, "And if you don't want me to touch you, you get not to. That's important."

Jon looks at him, dark eyes wide. "It's not about not wanting to," he says, in a small voice. "I just can't. It's too much."

There was something about that in Jon's letter, wasn't there? _When it becomes too much for me, which it often does with little to no warning._ Martin takes a deep breath. "I know it's not about me. I know."

"But it still hurts, doesn't it?" Jon's gaze meets his, unblinking.

Martin looks down. "I don't like being alone."

"Hmm." When he looks up again, Jon is rubbing his chin. "So we need to make you feel not alone," he says. "My physical presence in the room isn't enough, and I usually can't touch you. Hm." He springs to his legs. "Give me one moment."

Bemused, Martin watches as Jon leaves the room and returns carrying a purple fleece blanket. "Jon?"

He thinks Jon's cheeks look a little darker. "I realize it's silly," Jon says, defensively.

"Maybe first explain what _it_ is?" Martin suggests.

Jon holds the blanket to his chest for a moment. Then, he turns it around, and dangles the part he'd been holding in front of Martin who, baffled, grabs it. Jon sits on the far side of the sofa, still clutching one corner. "I used to wrap myself in this," he says, "before you gave me that heavy blanket."

Without thinking, Martin raises the fleece to his face. Yes, it does smell like Jon, human and complicated. It's very soft, and still warm from his body. It's hard not to bury his face in it. When he looks up again, Jon's eyes are on him, unflinching.

"Yes," Martin says, and clears his throat a bit, rattled. "I... think that might help, yeah." He imagines picking the blanket up after Jon's retreated to his own little dream world. Forces himself to say, "But."

"But?"

Martin struggles. "I-- I can see my brain twisting it around. Oh, look how pathetic Martin is, he'll take anything he can to keep from admitting he's not wanted."

Jon's eyebrows draw up. "That's not true!" he says in indignation. "That's never true. Not ever." He frowns in thought. "Would it help if it's like the hugs I'm sending you in text? A, a blanket hug. Does that make sense?"

"I think," Martin says, "for that to work, I'd need you to somehow indicate to me in the moment that this is something you want me to have. Not something I'm taking from you, something you're giving me."

Jon nods. He approaches Martin and gently tucks the blanket around his shoulders before retreating to his own corner, still holding the rest of the blanket. He covers his face with it, but Martin can still feel that they're holding the same piece of fabric.

"Oh," Martin says softly.

Jon's face pops back out. "So, will that work?"

"We can try," Martin says. He struggles for words. "Even if it doesn't - maybe something else will. We can figure something out."

"Maybe," Jon says. It's lovely to see hope dawning on his face. "Maybe so."

They're both startled by the chime of Jon's phone. Jon picks it up with visibly shaking hands. He scans the screen quickly, and says, "Ha!"

"Ha?" Martin asks.

Wordlessly, Jon shows his phone. Another text from Georgie. _I asked around, and there's an existing ban against Peter for all events in Kent for repeated charges of rape, assault and abuse. I talked to Gerry. Peter's banned from all our events, and Gertrude won't go to the press._

"Oh. Oh! That's fantastic," Martin says. "I mean, not that he'd done those things. Just--"

"That it doesn't all rest on me," Jon says. "Yeah."

Martin wants to hug him, but doesn't dare ask. Instead, he allows himself to bury his face in the blanket, inhaling Jon's scent, feeling the warm softness against his face.

He's a little startled when the blanket goes slack, and suddenly there is an entire Jon in his lap, real and solid and pushing against Martin's arms until Martin wraps them around him. "I love you," Martin whispers.

Jon sits back a bit, looking Martin in the eye, his expression pensive. He lifts two fingers to his own lips, then brings them to Martin's. Then he crowds in close again, laying his head on Martin's shoulder. He nods when Martin asks to pet his hair, breath hot on Martin's throat, his eyelashes tickling Martin's neck like a faint kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter:  
> \- Victim blaming from a rapist, and some graphic descriptions of what the rapist wanted to do  
> \- Internalized victim blaming  
> Next up: a ficlet called "five times jon and martin didn't touch, and one time they did"


End file.
